Father's Day
by Cynlee
Summary: Father's Day for Splinter and I warn you, you will have to suspend belief just a tad...I've also attempted to write this from Splinter's POV in four very short parts. TMNT are owned by Mirage and Mirage only! Father's Day in general is owned by us kids.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes I wonder what in my past life dictated that Fate would put me in the place I am in today.

Some would think that Life has been extraordinarily kind to a simple pet store rat like myself.

After all, I have lived longer-- much longer-- than the normal life span of such as my original self.

I have become, through "mutation", an intelligent, sentient being; human-like, but never human.

I have become, in many ways, what my Master Yoshi was.

I have also been the "father" of four turtles for these many years; four turtles who also were "mutated" into intelligent, sentient beings.

(Mikey: Hey, Raph! Wanna see me blow milk out my nose?)

Well, sentient at least.

Let me tell you a story.

"Father's Day"

Chapter 1:Donatello

I am in my room, staring at the collection of bad neckties and handmade cards I have received over the years.

I know that they have planned something special.

Again.

They try to hide so much from me, even after all these years.

But they are as transparent as moonlight.

"Surprise! Happy Father's Day!"

I try not to sigh noticeably.

"We've got a special day planned just for you, Sensei," Leonardo says, as he does each year, escorting me to the table where it is apparent yet again that Michaelangelo has prepared breakfast.

I wish he could learn to make something other than scrambled eggs.

"We got you a present, Sensei," Raphael says enthusiastically, handing me a badly wrapped gift-- I suspect Leonardo has been allowed once again near the wrapping paper and tape.

"Ah-- a DVD of WWE's Greatest Smackdowns," I say with as much gratitude as possible. They gave me the video last year. I thank them all sincerely.

"That's not the end of the gifts, Sensei," Donatello announces. "We're each going to spend part of the day with you!"

"We decided that we should spend approximately two hours each just with you-- not counting travel time--, doing any fun thing you want to do!" Michaelangelo grins.

"You are too kind," I try to get out of this. "I think that I would rather just enjoy the day calmly. You are young, and should enjoy your time in ways that are pleasing to you."

"But it does please us to spend time with you," Leonardo says. "We hardly ever get to do anything with you alone. We seem lately to either be training or fighting."

"Gee, you sound as if you don't want to spend time with each of us."

Michaelangelo is astute-- it comes and goes, usually at the most surprising times.

"My sons, I can think of nothing I would rather do than spend time with you all. But why one at a time? We are family. Why not spend this time together?"

"Told you he'd try to bail on this," I hear Raphael wisely whisper to Donetello.

I sigh, defeated.

"I just do not want to-- what is it the young say-- cramp your styles," I make one last attempt. They laugh.

"The young said that in the last century, but we understand," Donetello says. "I drew first pick, so in about a half-hour you and I are off for some father/son fun!"

We finish breakfast, and I am allowed to meditate-- not desperately, I stress to you all-- and then I meet Donetello in the garage.

I gather that he thinks the kind of fun I would like is to ride in the newly refurbished Battle Shell at breakneck speed, observing all the new improvements and inventions he has been busy with.

Alas, he does have a destination in mind.

"April set it up for us! You're gonna love it!" he assures me. "Though we gotta wear disguises."

"Disguises, my son?"

"Yeah-- we're going to a computer show! It's gonna be great!"

I close my eyes, and try not to grip the seat as we take a turn rather quickly.

"We are going into public, my son?"

"Yeah, you'll love it!"

If we are not discovered, I think.

We are met by Miss O'Neal in a side alley, where I am required to disguise myself.

I do not think this will work, but for some reason I am proven wrong.

Fate, perhaps?

I have a hard time understanding Donetello's enthusiasm for these things.

I will not repeat what he said during this time-- I can barely recall the exact words.

This is in part due to my fear of discovery in such a crowded place, coupled with the fact that I have absolutely no idea what it is he is talking about.

Something about things that bite, protection from worms, and male sheep with vast memories.

All too soon-- from my son's point of view-- we must leave and return home.

I thank him for the enjoyable morning. He beams with pride.

Perhaps it was worth it, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Raphael

"Me next!" Raphael pounces upon us with glee. "Come on, Sensei, we're gonna be late!"

"Late, my son?"

"Casey helped me set up a real fun father/son activity, but we gotta book! Hop onboard!"

He hands me a helmet, a jacket, and little time to comprehend anything he has said.

I find myself on the back of his motorcycle-- holding on tight, eyes closed, praying to my ancestors for protection for both of us.

I find we survive the trip to another very public place, where we meet Casey Jones, who is there to help with more disguises.

My sons seem to enjoy this type of activity.

I worry we will be discovered.

"Enjoy the show, Master Splinter!" Mr. Jones enthusiastically encourages me, then I find myself sitting in a dangerously crowded public place watching something called "ice hockey".

Apparently they are suppose to try to get a little black disk into a large net in order to earn points, but they periodically interrupt this pursuit to battle each other.

It looks like stick-fighting on ice skates. I do not understand, but I must admit, some of it is enjoyable.

If only I could quit worrying that we will be discovered.

Another fight breaks out. The ninjitsu master in me suddenly comes out.

"Hold your stick higher, and then sweep with the leg as follow-through!" I shout, then remember who we are and where we are.

For some reason, no one notices. I gather this is because they, too, are busy giving advice in the noble art of stick-fighting.

Raphael seems amused at me. I sit back down, and begin again to worry about discovery.

Plus, the noise is almost unbearable to someone like myself, who prefers quiet.

"You'd make a great hockey coach," he says, as we leave the game (early, to avoid unnecessary crowds at the exits).

"I will remain a ninjitsu master," I reply. "It seems safer."

I thank him for the enjoyable entertainment. He glows with pleasure, as he does when I have praised his fighting skills.

At least I am making my sons happy.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Michelangelo

"My turn, my turn, my turn!" Michaelangelo greets us on our return.

"I trust you also have something fun planned, my son," I say to my "youngest"-- for I have always considered him the "baby" of the family.

"You bet, Sensei! April helped me set it up! Come on, or we'll be late!"

It seems I owe a lot of this day to Miss O'Neal and Mr. Jones.

Just when sitting down with a nice cup of green tea would be most welcome, I am once again whisked away for "father/son fun".

Fortunately, we do not go above ground for the trip.

Unfortunately, we do travel by one of the water jet skis my sons use down here.

I do not understand this desire for speed.

Or this business of wearing disguises to have "father/son fun".

And where, exactly, is "Coney Island"?

April meets us again, with more disguises.

Another dangerously crowded place-- outside by the ocean.

Perhaps we will take a quiet walk along the beach-- I have longed to visit the ocean.

"Come on, Sensei! We're gonna have a great time!" my son says, pulling me towards a place with frightening contraptions that people are strapped into, screaming for help.

"Which first, Sensei? The Big Dipper or the Crack the Whip?"

More talk I do not understand.

"You choose, my son," I politely reply.

I am wishing I had insisted we return to the beach.

Lots of fast "rides" in seemingly unsafe containers; up and down steep hills at unbelievable speeds; spinning until one feels as if one's soul has been drained out of one's ears.

"Coney Island dog?" He generously offers me a very smothered hot dog-- one can barely see the meat.

But my stomach is still on the thing called the Tilt-O-Whirl, and I turn him down with as much tact as possible.

"I am fasting until dinner, my son."

"Oh, well, waste not, want not!" He makes short work of the food.

Alas, it is time to go-- he looks crestfallen.

"Thank-you, my son, for this most-- educational of days," I say. He grins even more than he usually does.

As the ancient master said, three down, one to go.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Leonardo

Finally we make it home.

I had my doubts that we would.

Now there is only Leonardo to get through-- I mean, to spend time with.

I hope we will not go anywhere, but I find that Leonardo is waiting to take me someplace as well.

This time we walk.

Blessed son!

He is carrying a backpack, but will not say what is inside. I assume it is more disguises.

He asks me how the day has been so far. I speak kindly and glowingly of the many pleasures I have enjoyed today with my sons.

I think he believes me.

He has brought us by a roundabout way to my old lair!

"I guess I'm feeling sentimental, Sensei," he says, as he pulls out equipment for building a small fire and making tea. "But I wanted to come here, where you first brought us, and talk about that day."

He brews the thick green tea, and prepares us each a cup, in the tradition of the tea ceremony.

I know he does not like it, but I am glad he makes the effort.

We sit quietly for a short time, enjoying the tea. Then:

"Sensei-- do you ever regret the course of your life?"

I feel as if I am suddenly in a very crowded public place with no disguise.

Do I ever regret the course of my life?

Such a question!

How can you answer your son truthfully such a question?

You stall for time.

"What do you mean, my son?"

"You're stalling for time, Sensei. Do you ever regret the day when you found us? Do you ever regret being mutated, becoming something you weren't born to be? Do you ever regret the course of your life?"

I sip the tea, my mind turning this question over and over.

Do I ever regret the course of my life?

"Leonardo-- I honestly cannot say that I have ever thought of this subject," I slowly answer. "I have wondered greatly at the course of my life. I have regrets for the tragic fate of my Master Yoshi. I have regrets for the dangerous life that has befallen you and your brothers. I have regrets of eating Michaelangelo's breakfast and then spending part of my day in or on various swift-moving transportation, thereby unsettling my stomach."

I sip the welcome tea again. I sense he is not satisfied with my answer.

"I am guessing you mean, do I regret being father to four teenage mutant ninja turtles," I finally say.

He looks at me, no judgment, no expectations on his face.

No visual clues into his soul.

He has learned well.

"Leonardo, my son," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I have never regretted being the father of four such sons as you, Donetello, Raphael, and Michaelangelo--except when the music is too loud, or you fight with each other, or you do not clean your rooms."

He looks too serious.

"I was making a joke," I say, and his face clears. "How can you, how can any of you, wonder such a thing? I love you all. I do not regret that day when I found you. I do not regret the course of my life-- of our lives together. I do not regret being mutated-- and as for becoming something I was not born to be-- perhaps this **was** what I was born to be. I do not know the answer. I do not question my fate, though I have wondered about it from time to time. But regret being your father? How could you ask such a thing, my son?"

He looks as happy as the other three have looked throughout this special day.

Kids.

He prepares the thin green tea as a follow up to the thick macha, and while we quietly drink this, he produces some ginger cookies for us to eat as well.

At last-- a quiet moment to sit still and think.

To rest.

To relax.

To reflect.

"Well, we'd better hurry. The guys should have dinner ready by now," Leonardo suddenly announces, and bustles about cleaning up and getting ready to go.

I refrain from comment.

After all, these are my sons.

I am lucky to have four such caring sons who willingly go to such trouble to honor me on this day.

I just hope Michaelangelo did not cook.


End file.
